


Something Important

by VictoriaSkyeMarsters



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Age Difference, Anal Sex, But Very Much Consensual, Daddy Kink, Daryl is almost 18, Dirty Talk, Domestic Violence, I'm picturing Season One Rick, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Really? - Freeform, Rick to the Rescue, So it's not that creepy, Unsafe Sex, but how dark can he be, but not for long, but still, dark!Rick, dirty dirty dirty, explicit descriptions of injuries caused by abusive parent, smart ass Daryl, virgin!Daryl, young!Daryl AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VictoriaSkyeMarsters/pseuds/VictoriaSkyeMarsters
Summary: During a night shift, Rick gets a call about a domestic disturbance over at the local trailer park. He's never heard of the Dixons, but by the end of the night, he gets to know one of them real well.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Comments: 12
Kudos: 236





	Something Important

**Author's Note:**

> I must have The Writing Fever, because I'm already posting another story. 
> 
> Just something to take note of: Daryl gets beaten up by his dad (off screen) and Rick swoops in and saves/seduces him. Or maybe Daryl saves/seduces Rick. I tried to make it even steven, in that regard. Either way, take care of yourselves. If thirty-something cops getting it on with seventeen-year old abuse victims isn't your thing, you probably won't like this. I do though! 
> 
> ps- this is just more filth, please do not read aloud at my funeral

Rick hadn’t been on the job five minutes when the radio called in the domestic disturbance on Cherry Lane. He was working the night shift with Shane, had been doing a lot of that since the divorce, and he’d barely had a chance to take the first sip of his coffee when the static voice of the dispatcher alerted them to the trailer park. 

“Shit, man. The Dixon place again,” Shane groaned as he started up the engine and they pulled out of the station parking lot. 

“You know the address?” asked Rick, balancing his coffee as his partner turned too sharply around the corner. 

“Where you been?”

“Not working as many night shifts as you, apparently."

“Man, everyone knows who the Dixons are. How’d you avoid this shit for so long?”

“You’re my partner, you tell me. Who’re the Dixons?” 

“A fucking nightmare, that’s who,” Shane sighed. “An honest-to-god, redneck nightmare. Look up their file. You’ll see. Poaching, drugs, indecent exposure, DUIs, the works, man. This family is a genuine wreck.”

“How many we dealing with?” Rick asked, his interest piqued. It had been a long weekend, during which he’d had too much time off work, and he was antsy, anxious to do something, to do some good. 

“There’s the man of the house,” Shane began, his sermon voice coming on strong. Rick rolled his eyes in preparation for the inevitable speech. “Will Dixon. Piece of work. Worst of the lot. If we’re getting called out there now? He’s gonna be balls to the wall drunk. No doubt in my mind.”

“Will Dixon. Drunk. Got it. Who else?”

“Eldest son,” Shane continued, green light from the traffic signal highlighting his heavy brow in neon. “Jackass by the name of Merle. Balls to the wall high. He’s been hauled into the cells for all kinds of lewdness, Rick. We’re talkin’ some thorough redneck bullshit. It’s a miracle he hasn’t been caught distributing yet, but it’s only a matter of time.”

“Distributing what?” Rick asked, though he had a good idea. 

“Meth,” said Shane, answering Rick’s nod with one of his own. “Yeah. Dixons, man. It’s gonna be a handful, so follow my lead, alright?”

“Is that all of them?” asked Rick, eyebrows furrowing. “Doesn’t seem like two guys is all that much to handle.”

“There’s a youngest son, too. A little punk, but I don’t think he’s much to worry about. Smart mouth, but too young to get into any real trouble yet, even with a brother like Merle and daddy like Will Dixon.” 

Shane turned onto the dirt road that would lead them to Cherry Lane, the designated trailer park of King County. Rick had been out here before, but never for the notorious Dixons. He stared out the window at the thick line of trees, seeing a dull reflection of his own eyes staring back. His skin itched. Not with the need to do violence, but with the need to do anything. 

“We’re almost there,” Shane said, and sure enough, the lights from the park were already twinkling through the windshield. They rolled in slowly, their lights flashing red and blue. 

“It’s this one, on the end,” Shane pointed out as they came to a stop in front of the last trailer. 

Rick eyed it curiously. It was more dilapidated than the others down the lane. There was a rusty pickup truck parked out front, and a svelte shadow leaning against the side of it. Someone skinny, with their hood pulled low and their arms crossed, a cigarette burning in the darkness. Out front, sprawled in the dirt by the trailer doors, was a large, muscular man with a beer belly and a mean smile. 

“Merle?” Rick asked. 

“No. That’s the dad,” Shane replied. “Looks drunk as a skunk. Let’s deal with this. Get it over with.”

They got out of the car. The park wasn’t quiet; they never were, what with all the people living in such close quarters with such thin walls. But there was an air of watchfulness surrounding this particular trailer. Like all the neighbors were peeking out their windows and around corners in order to see what fate was fixing to be dealt out to the Dixons.   
Rick let Shane approach first, as he was the one who’d dealt with this before. His partner strode up to the dirt-bound man with his typical swaggering hips, his hand on his belt and his head cocked to the side. If Rick didn’t know him better, he’d guess he was a real asshole. 

It seemed as if Will Dixon had similar ideas about Shane. “Asshole,” he spat. And yes, he was definitely drunk. Belligerently drunk, if his swinging fist had anything to say about it, even if he was too intoxicated to make his fist connect with anything other than the ground. “Get off my lawn!”

“Sir, we received a complaint,” Shane began with a surprising amount of patience. “Heard there’s been some sort of domestic dispute. You know what all that’s about?”

“Ain’t had no disputes here,” Will Dixon slurred. An empty bottle of whiskey went rolling past him when he hit it with a floundering elbow. 

“Not what we heard,” Shane countered. “You gonna force us to ask your neighbors what went down here tonight? Must have been bad for someone to phone it in. We know y’all don’t like us down here, no more than we like being here.”

As Will Dixon continued a drunken, garbled tirade, Rick’s eyes scanned the area, his attention falling back to the figure leaning against the side of the trailer. The cherry of their cigarette burned bright. Rick tapped Shane on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the shadow. Shane nodded and continued to coax drunken slurs out of Dixon. 

Rick left them for the darkness, the figure there growing stiff as he approached. Rick lifted a cautious, calming hand. “I’m Officer Grimes. You know what happened here tonight?”

The figure turned, and the hood slid back, casting the young man’s face in the headlights of the cop car. Rick gasped. Not because of the striking eyes staring out at him, but because of the dark bruise gathering around those eyes. The split lip making his pretty mouth blood-red. The cut on his sharp cheekbone dribbling blood all the way down to an unexpected beauty mark, just above the curve of his lips. 

It clicked for Rick, right then. “You the Dixon boy?”

The voice that answered hit him like a punch to the gut. Raspy and smoky and enough to leave a tingle behind on Rick’s skin, almost soothing his itch. “I don’t gotta talk to you. You ain’t my daddy.”

Rick ignored the disturbing shiver that “daddy” had left behind, coming from that mouth, and gestured to Shane, as well as the drunk in front of him, still sprawled on the ground. “I know that. I wanna know if that’s your daddy,” he countered. 

The boy sucked on the end of his cigarette, taking a deep drag before blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. “Don’t talk to fuckin’ cops.” 

Christ, but his voice. Rick squinted at him. In the strange lighting, it was difficult to guess an age. He couldn’t be sure this wasn’t Merle Dixon, after all. Shane had never said how old the oldest son was. “You Merle?” 

The boy’s laughter was harsh, grating, and beautiful. “Do I look like my name’s fucking Merle?” he asked. He threw his spent cigarette to the ground and crushed the cherry with a booted toe. With his hands no longer occupied, he looked restless, shoving them in his pockets and pushing back from the trailer wall. He wasn’t quite glaring at Rick, because he was refusing to make eye contact, but he was giving the space to the left of Rick’s shoulder a withering look. “You gonna stop looming over me, man?” he asked.

And Rick realized with a small, discomfiting shock, that he had been looming over this boy. Probably looking downright menacing in his uniform, the gun at his waist, the authoritative tone he always used when he was working. He let himself shrink down a fraction, let his shoulders relax as he took a step back, opening his hands in a gesture of apology. “I’m just here to help,” he soothed. 

The boy didn’t look like he believed that. “You wanna help?” he asked. “Get that fuckin’ drunk out ‘a here, so I don’t have to deal with it anymore tonight.”

Rick glanced over his shoulder, where Shane was slowly easing Will Dixon to his feet. They teetered. Shane would need his help to get him into the back of the squad car. But they’d need more reason to arrest him than him being drunk outside his own damn trailer. “You gonna help me help you?” he asked.

The boy just shrugged, piecey bangs falling over his eyes. 

“You’re the youngest Dixon boy,” Rick said. When the boy opened his mouth to argue, he spoke over him. “Wasn’t a question. Your daddy do that to you?” He waved vaguely in the direction of the boy’s face, struggling to keep the sympathy from his voice. He had a feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated. 

Calculating eyes met his. “If I say yes, you gonna lock him up?” There was something there, in the gravel of his voice. A tremor. It made Rick’s blood burn to hear it. 

“I’ll lock him up,” he promised. “Throw away the key, if you want it that way.”

The boy shifted on his heels, drawing a little closer so Rick could better see the blossoming bruises and spots of crimson-stained skin. “Ain’t as simple as that.”

“It will be, if you let me take you down to the station. Let me photograph you. That sort of evidence, on a kid like you, could get your daddy thrown in jail.”

“Ain’t a kid,” was the heated reply. 

“How old are you?”

“Pfft.” The boy kicked at the dirt. “Seventeen.”

Rick’s smile was soft. “You may not be a kid, but you’re a minor.” Again, the boy was avoiding his eyes, but this time, Rick wasn’t having it. “Hey, look at me. Look at me.” He waited until the boy looked up. “I can lock him up, throw away the key, and make sure he doesn’t get out again until you’re eighteen. An adult. And then you can get out of here. For good, if you want it.”

“That’s a pretty promise,” the boy scoffed. “Heard it before.”

“Not from me,” Rick said. “What’s your name?”

A bitten lip, eyes dodging, cheek swelling. “Daryl.”

“Daryl Dixon,” Rick repeated. The itching beneath his skin was barely there now, replaced with a simmering something, flaring when he spoke that name aloud. He did it again. “Daryl Dixon, come with me down to the station.”

Daryl shrugged. Hesitated. Then spoke in a rushed rasp. “Don’t got anythin’ better to do, do I?” 

He allowed Rick to gently lead him from the side of the trailer, jolting when Rick’s hand fell to his lower back, but not pulling away from the touch. The closer they walked into the light of the squad car, the more colorful Daryl’s face became, vivid with bruises and blood. Somehow, his beauty didn’t suffer for it, and Rick had a hard time looking away, even when he’d left Daryl leaning against the car in order to rejoin Shane’s side. 

His partner had to grunt in annoyance in order to garner Rick’s attention. When his eyes finally focused from the youngest Dixon to the eldest, the gentleness that he’d forced for the former disappeared in a flash. He scowled down at the drunken mess of a man and was a little too rough to be professional when he grabbed his arm and helped Shane haul him to his feet. 

“You’re under arrest,” he hissed, spinning him around so they could press him against the car hood. Rick ripped the cuffs from his belt, ignoring Shane’s questioning look, and proceeded to cuff Will Dixon. “Assault and battery of a minor,” he rumbled, keenly aware that Daryl’s eyes were on his back. 

“He’s my boy,” Will Dixon slurred, too drunk to do much more than struggle half-heartedly. “I can do what I want to ‘em!”

“Good luck doing anything to him with your ass rotting in a cell,” he grated. With Shane’s help, they wrestled him into the back of the squad car and slammed the door. 

Shane ran his hands through his hair, eyes wide and frazzled. “That’s one heavy motherfucker,” he complained. “Let’s get him to the station.”

Rick shook his head. “You need to take him solo.” He stepped close to his partner, lowering his voice. “I need to bring his son in for photographic evidence. But I’m not making him ride in the same car as his father.”

Shane nodded. “Good idea. I’ll call in for another squad car to come pick you up. Shouldn’t be long, brother.” He slapped Rick on the back and stuck his head in the driver’s side. Rick watched through the windshield as he spoke into the radio. When Shane gave him a thumbs up, he turned back towards Daryl. 

The boy had retreated back into the shadows while they’d been dealing with his father, and now, even in the darkness, Rick could tell he was shaken. He waved at Shane, who’d settled in the car to wait, and went to Daryl. 

“You did the right thing,” he said. 

“Fuck off,” Daryl spat, fishing around in his pocket, probably for another cigarette. “Only thing I’ve done is piss him off more. He’ll be out by the end of the night, and I’ll be good as fucked.”

Rick placed a hand on Daryl’s shoulder, ignoring the attempt to shake him off and squeezing harder. Not enough to hurt, just enough to let him feel it. Really feel it. “He’s not touching you again,” he promised. 

Blue eyes sparked—Rick could see they were blue now, from this close up—and Daryl ran his tongue across his lower lip, possibly to taste the blood, possibly because he knew what it did to Rick. “You gonna protect me, Officer Friendly?”

“Rick.”

Daryl lifted a hand to chew at the cuticle of his thumb, that little pink tongue darting across the skin. “You gonna protect me, Rick?” he corrected. His gaze was almost shy as he looked up at Rick through wisps of hair. “You the only one that’s allowed to touch me?”

He glanced pointedly down, and Rick followed his eyes, surprised to find his hand wrapped loosely around Daryl’s wrist. He didn’t remember taking it, but he let it go hastily, his cheeks overcome with a blossoming heat he hadn’t felt in a long while. Thank god it was too dark to be seen. He almost apologized, but stopped himself. Daryl didn’t look like he wanted apologies; he looked like he wanted promises. Real ones. Firm ones. He looked like he needed them. 

Rick obliged after reclaiming his wrist, wrapping it up in his hand and smoothing his thumb over the surprisingly soft skin. “That’s right,” he said, not quite a whisper, but nearly. “No one’s getting their hands on you. You can consider yourself under my protection.” He squeezed Daryl’s wrist. “For as long as you want it.” His confidence wavered. “If you want it.”

Daryl breathed in sharply. “Not sure what I want yet,” he admitted. 

“That’s fine,” answered Rick. And it was fine. Hell, Rick wasn’t even sure what they were talking about anymore. He just knew he was as confused as Daryl Dixon. They stood there, staring at one another, wordless, until the second squad car rolled up with flashing lights. 

“There’s our ride,” Rick announced, releasing Daryl’s wrist, his hand sliding up his arm to take his elbow instead. Again, Daryl didn’t push him away, but walked close to his side as they approached the second car. 

Shane blipped his siren a moment, and after Rick had waved him off, he headed out of the trailer park with Will Dixon in tow. The officers in the second car rolled down the window to greet Rick. He smiled when he saw who it was. 

“Hey, Glenn,” he said with a nod. “Maggie.”

The officer driving flashed him a bright smile. “Gonna have to ride in the back,” she said. 

“That’s fine,” replied Rick, already leading Daryl towards the back. “Just grateful for the ride.”

He opened the door for Daryl, resisting the urge to push his head down so he wouldn’t hit his head going in, like he did with all their arrests. Daryl glided smoothly in, and Rick wondered if it wasn’t his first time riding in the back of one of these squad cars. He didn’t ask, just slid in beside him, their thighs flush once he’d settled. Knees knocking. 

It was quiet on the drive to the station, Maggie and Glenn speaking lowly to one another and occasionally responding on their radios. Daryl kept his head turned away, watching out the window, but he kept his thigh firmly pressed against Rick’s the entire time, and Rick took special care not to move, afraid the touch might be taken away if his fidgeting drew attention to it. 

He still wasn’t sure what was happening. All he knew was that as soon as he’d seen Daryl standing in the shadows, something had shifted, activated. Something. 

Something. 

And now he felt lit up and wide awake. All for a smart-mouthed, underage, beaten-up kid he’d scooped out of a trailer park. Nothing about that wasn’t fucked up, he was well aware. But it didn’t stop him from luxuriating in the heat of their joined thighs. Didn’t stop him from wanting to set his hand down on his own knee, only to let it creep slowly onto Daryl’s. He refrained, but he wanted it. Wanted it desperately by the time they reached the station. 

Keyed up, he thanked his fellow officers and waited while Glenn came around and opened the door for them. He scooted out before Daryl, shamed by his need to turn away and slyly readjust himself in his slacks. 

Daryl’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion as he exited the car, not suspicion towards Rick necessarily, but towards the police station, the other officers, and, most likely, the world in general. Eager to get him inside, where he could properly see to his injuries, Rick pressed delicately at his back. He was inappropriately pleased when Daryl went with him easily. 

They strode into the station together. It was a quiet night, far as King County nights went, and there wasn’t much bustling in the bullpen. “Just follow me,” Rick murmured, close to Daryl’s ear. “You don’t have to talk to anyone but me.”

They received a few curious looks, but were left well enough alone as Rick led them into the backrooms. The hallway branched off to the holding cells in one direction, and the evidence and interrogation rooms in the other. He ignored both turn-offs, leading them instead to the processing room straight ahead, at the very end of the hall. It was empty, but Rick could hear Shane’s familiar cadence echoing from the direction of the cells. Probably speaking to Will Dixon. A look at Daryl told him the boy had figured that out, too, so Rick quickly ushered him into the processing room. 

He readied the camera by touch, keeping his eyes trained on Daryl’s slow roam around the room. It was bare. Only a few chairs and some filing cabinets. A place to take fingerprints and collect personal items. There was a white screen hanging from the farthest wall, and that was where Rick needed Daryl to be for the shots. His stomach swooped in anticipation. He would get to look at Daryl up close, the widening of his pupils hopefully obscured behind the camera lens. 

“Need you to stand over there,” he instructed with a nod to the wall. 

Daryl slinked to where he’d been directed. The room was bright, and Rick could finally see him clearly. He had tired circles under his eyes, accompanying the bruises. The left was worse off than the right, the skin already dark blue. It looked tender to the touch, just like his swollen cheek and busted lip. But Rick would be damned if he wasn’t still the prettiest thing, blood and all. 

“You gonna take my picture or stare at me all night?” Daryl asked, half teasing, half irritated. 

Rick wanted to do both. But his job only allowed for one. He lifted the camera and came forward. He’d need to get close for the best shots. “Stay still,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything but stand there.”

“Not like I was gonna say cheese or nothin’.”

Rick smiled as he pressed his eye to the camera, even though none of this was funny. It was devastating. It was horrendous. But Daryl was brave and strong, and he didn’t wince away as Rick began to click, capturing intimate shots of his myriad wounds. 

He became aware he was breathing harder than was normal around the time he was snapping a picture of Daryl’s mouth. His lips were thin, elegant, looked soft and sweet. 

Click. He captured the place his father’s fist had slammed into the edge of his mouth. 

Click. The trail of dried blood down his jaw.

Click. The dark smudge on his neck, which looked at least a week old. Another assault. 

Click. Rick’s anger grew. 

Click. His hands began to shake. 

“Take off your sweatshirt, Daryl,” he rumbled, not daring to lower the camera, wanting to keep his face hidden, as well as the sweat forming on his brow. 

Daryl pulled the sweatshirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor at his feet. 

“Shirt, too,” Rick ordered. 

“How come?” 

“Because you’ve got evidence underneath it. Don’t you?” 

He didn’t want to be right, but when Daryl complied, pulling the thin t-shirt off, Rick couldn’t find it in himself to be anything but glad. Not for the scars he saw, or the bruised ribs, but for the expanse of bare skin, jutting hips, broad shoulders, and small nipples, pink and peaked. Rick’s emotions whirred and rushed, surging between rage and attraction. He looked at Daryl’s naked torso, his pretty face, his narrow waist, and he wanted. 

Something. 

Click. Click. Click. Bruised hips. Scarred pectoral. Road map of wrong.

“Need me to turn around?” Daryl asked, his voice loud in the room. The air between them felt like a deeply held breath, hungry for an exhale. 

“Mmm,” Rick replied. “Please.”

Through the lens, he watched Daryl slowly turn. His back was scarred more harshly than his front. Rick went through the motions, taking the pictures he needed, and then he was setting down the camera and walking forward. He watched helplessly as his hands reached out. His fingers brushed lightly over Daryl’s shoulders. The boy shivered beneath the touch.

But he didn’t pull away. 

So neither did Rick. He let his fingers trail over sharp shoulder blades, over pink ridges of scar tissue, some healed and faded, some fresh, still scabbing. How long had officers been coming to Cherry Lane and never doing shit about this abused boy? How had this been allowed to go on for so long? How had Daryl Dixon existed in the same world, in the same town, and was only now sharing space with Rick? He irrationally hated himself for not knowing what he was missing. And he knew—he knew with a fierceness that terrified him—that Will Dixon wouldn’t be leaving his holding cell alive. He wasn’t going to jail, he was going in the ground. Rick was going to make sure of it. 

The realization shocked him, but it didn’t scare him. It was a truth. Just like Daryl’s skin beneath his palm was a truth, and the way his fingers tightened around his waist was a truth. The way Daryl leaned into him, until his back pressed against Rick’s chest. 

“You get what you needed?” Daryl asked, his voice feather-light. 

Rick felt the vibration of words through his back. He lowered his head until his nose brushed against the junction between shoulder and neck. Daryl was so warm, smelled sweet like cigar wrappers, smoky. “You have anything else you need me to see?” he asked, his breath hot against Daryl’s skin, his fingers gripping gently to his waist, not wanting to leave the same bruises his father had. 

“Some lashes on the backs of my thighs,” Daryl admitted. 

They stood so still, the both of them. Rick was hard where his crotch was pressed to Daryl’s back, but he didn’t try to chase the sensation. His hands didn’t move from their gentle perch, and Daryl didn’t try to wriggle free, didn’t do anything but lean, letting Rick support most of his weight. 

They breathed hard, in unison. 

“You gonna take my pants off, Rick?” It was the first time he’d said Rick’s name. 

Rick wanted nothing more than for him to say it again. 

“Need the pictures,” he said. “Gotta take ‘em off.” He cleared his throat, coming back into himself long enough to ask, “You want another officer in the room before we continue?” Because Rick wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t a bad man, either, but he was starting to act like one. He’d allow it, in some ways. He would take Will Dixon’s life. But he wouldn’t take Daryl. Not if he didn’t want taking. He’d step away and call in Shane, or Carol, or Aaron. Have a witness and a chaperone. If Daryl wanted that, he’d do it. 

He’d do fucking anything for this boy he’d only just met, but who felt more real to him than his marriage ever had. More real than his whole life. 

He forced himself to step away. One step, then two. “Daryl,” he whispered. 

Daryl turned to face him. He didn’t look frightened, didn’t look at Rick the way he’d looked at his father. The front of his jeans were bulging, where his erection was pressed against his zipper. “Gonna be eighteen in two months, if that’s what’s the matter,” he offered quietly. Shy, but bold at the same time. “Been lookin’ after myself a long time. ‘S not like I’m a kid.”

“You said you weren’t,” Rick agreed. “But you’re underage, and I’m a police officer.” He said it, because he had to say it. He wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. He’d acknowledge it. Face the indecency head on. 

Daryl didn’t look impressed. He unbuttoned his jeans with a mocking smile. “Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ cop. I got eyes. What’s it matter, when I like the look of you?” His fingers disappeared into his waistband, sliding the denim over his hips, down his thighs. He shimmied until they pooled around his ankles. “You like the look of me?”

Rick’s breath froze in his lungs as he looked. Daryl wore briefs, white and snug and a hint too small, like he’d outgrown them but hadn’t bothered to buy new yet. His thighs were muscular, thicker than his own. His feet were pretty, arched and elegant, even if they were a little dirty. He wondered when he’d kicked his boots off. He’d been so distracted by the jeans coming off, he hadn’t even noticed. 

“I like the look of you, Daryl,” Rick whispered. He hadn’t meant to whisper, but his voice was hoarse. He wasn’t used to the thickness in his throat, or the thickness in his cock, from just looking. He’d look forever, if Daryl was willing. 

“Better pick up that camera, then,” Daryl said. “Take my fuckin’ picture so I can suck your dick already.”

Rick hissed, bending over to retrieve the camera, which he’d left haphazardly on the floor. “Turn around. Put your hands against the wall and bend over.” Lust hit him over the head, making him dizzy with it when Daryl did as he was asked, pushing out his round ass so Rick could better see the backs of his thighs. 

Rick barely registered the scars from old lashes as he dropped to his knees to snap his shots. 

Click. The crease between ass cheek and upper thigh. 

Click. Downy hair. 

Click. A birthmark behind the back of his knee. 

Click. Plump buttocks stretching thin, white cotton. 

“Fuck this,” Rick said, practically throwing down the camera and grasping Daryl’s ass with both hands. His broad palms and long fingers encompassed him entirely, and he squeezed, falling forward to press his forehead to the dip in Daryl’s lower back. He breathed deep, stuck out his tongue, and tasted his skin. Sweat, traces of soap from a days-old shower, Daryl, Daryl, Daryl. 

Daryl pushed back into his hold, his hand slapping against the wall and his groan too loud in the room that was very much not locked, and very much still inside a police station. Rick cussed, suddenly pissed by the restrictions, by the fucking rules. He jumped to his feet with the camera, breathing raggedly as he backed away towards the door. His cock was cruelly, tortuously hard, and he palmed it angrily. “I’m turning over these pictures, and you’re getting dressed. And then we’re getting out of here.”

Daryl’s smile was small, but full of surety as he slipped back into his jeans. “Don’t you gotta job to do, Officer?”

Fuck. He did. His shift had barely started. “Tonight, my job includes taking you someplace safe to spend the night. That’s not here, and it sure as hell isn’t Cherry Lane.”

“I ain’t goin’ to no public housing bullshit,” Daryl spat, falling back easily into the haughty rudeness he’d been adopting earlier in the night. 

“Did I say you were?” Rick bit back, enjoying the sight of eyebrows lifting in surprise. “I’m taking you to my place, where I’m gonna fuck your brains out and then tuck you into my bed. That a problem?”

Daryl blushed, and Rick felt like he’d finally achieved something worthwhile. “Nah. Ain’t no problem.”

“Good boy. Get dressed, and I’ll meet you out there.”

Shane looked at him like he was crazy when Rick told him he was taking off for an hour to bring Daryl to his place, but he didn’t say anything against it, and for that, Rick was thankful. Arguing it would have looked suspicious, and he didn’t want any more delays. He packed Daryl into his civilian car and sped out of the station towards his house, which was only a few minutes’ drive away. 

He lived alone now, had done since Lori had moved out and taken Carl with her. Most nights, he hated the silence of a place that used to be so full. But tonight, he relished in it.   
He turned the key to the front door with Daryl standing behind, waiting. He pushed open the door, threw his keys on the little table, and tugged Daryl over the threshold, reaching behind him to pull the door shut. 

The lamp was on and the light was warm, lighting up Daryl’s face, highlighting the shine in his eyes and muting the bruises. Rick cupped his hand over Daryl’s cheek. “Your mouth too sore for me to kiss?” he asked. 

“You wanna kiss me?” Daryl responded. 

And Rick…he didn’t like that at all. Didn't like the doubt he heard. He brought up his other hand, cupping Daryl’s other cheek, holding his face in his hands. His grasp was firmer than it should have been, but Daryl didn’t seem to mind, not with the way he melted into Rick’s hands. “Of course I wanna kiss you,” he said solemnly. He’d never been more serious about anything his entire life. To him, these were vows. He meant it as much. “I wanna kiss you soft at first. Slip my tongue in your mouth. Taste you. Then, I wanna kiss you hard, Daryl.” His hands traveled down to Daryl’s neck, holding there with only the slightest tease of pressure. “Never wanna stop. Bet you feel so good. Bet I could come just from kissing you.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Don’t no one kiss that good.”

Rick’s smile was predatory; he could feel it stretching his lips, could feel the heat radiating from his cock. “You wanna find out?” he asked, increasing the pressure on Daryl’s throat, just a little. “You gonna give me that mouth?”

He only waited as long as it took Daryl to nod, and then he was combing his fingers through slightly greasy hair, and claiming Daryl’s lips in a soft and searing kiss. Gentle, at first, like he’d promised. It was everything Rick had needed. Daryl’s mouth opened to his like a fucking flower to the sun, letting their lips slide, letting Rick’s tongue slip inside.   
Rick groaned, running over sharp canines, the ridged roof of Daryl’s mouth, and then his hesitant, sweet tongue. 

When Daryl’s hands grabbed at Rick’s shoulders, deliciously needy, Rick roughened the kiss, fucking into his mouth, only letting up long enough to let Daryl breathe before surging back in for more. His hands smoothed from Daryl’s hair to his arms, to his waist, to his supple ass. Rick squeezed his cheeks hard and yanked Daryl forward, grinding against him. 

The itch under his skin was gone. Only fire was left, and if it was going to burn, he wanted to burn with Daryl Dixon. “Could kiss you all night,” he rasped against Daryl’s throat, kissing there, too, and nipping gently. 

“But you gotta be back at work in an hour,” Daryl huffed, chest rising and falling rapidly where Rick crushed him to his chest. “Better get to it, Rick, if you’re gonna kiss me until I come.”

Rick growled, tightened his hold beneath Daryl’s ass, and lifted him off the floor. He was slight enough that Rick could carry him easily, all that muscle under his hands sinewy instead of bulky. “Never said I was gonna let you come.”

Daryl’s thighs squeezed at his sides, crossing his ankles behind Rick’s back as he was carried down the hall to the bedroom. “You gonna try’n tell me what to do? You try’na be my daddy, Rick?”

There was that fucking word again, filthy as sin coming from Daryl’s kiss-plumped mouth. “You keep bringing it up,” he said, walking them through the bedroom door and depositing Daryl carefully on the bed, keeping himself dutifully atop him. “You want me to be your daddy, Daryl?”

“Fuck no,” Daryl spat, but his vehemence was betrayed by the pinking of his cheeks. 

“No?” asked Rick. “You sure about that?” He swiveled his hips, rutting his cock against Daryl’s until they both whined. Christ, he needed to get them out of their clothes. “You don’t need Daddy to help get you undressed? Get a nice, hot hand around your dick? Want Daddy’s finger in your little ass?”

“Fuck, Rick,” Daryl groaned, slapping at Rick’s cheek, even as he bucked his hips against him, his back arching off the bed. 

Rick boxed him in with his hands, kissing him hard until he quieted. Then he leaned back, demanding his eyes. “Your dad didn’t touch you like this, did he, Daryl?” he asked, soft and serious. Because that wasn’t a game. That would be another bullet in Will Dixon’s head. 

Daryl licked his lips. Then lifted his head enough to lick Rick’s. “Nah,” he answered. “’S not like that. Never has been.”

Rick sighed, his weight pressing Daryl into the bed, hard and relieved. “You want it to be that way with your new daddy, though?” he teased, nuzzling into Daryl’s neck, laughing when he felt Daryl laugh. “Try it. Say it for me.”

Daryl tossed his head, moaning as Rick began ridding them both of their clothes, stripping them quickly. “Daddy,” he whispered, in that same voice that made Rick go wild from the beginning. From the first fucking syllable he’d heard come out of that beautiful mouth. 

“Yeah, baby,” Rick answered, stepping out of boxers and letting Daryl see how much he liked it. His cock stood erect and leaking, the head deep red and fat, glistening. 

Daryl’s eyes widened at the sight of him, and Rick flushed with pride before divesting Daryl of the tiny white briefs that had tortured him at the station. Daryl’s cock was lovely, the perfect size for Rick’s hand as he hurried to wrap a tight fist around it. 

Rick spared a thought for the madness of this night, wondered how it’d ended up this way. Wondered how he’d ended up with a beautiful boy in his bed and an addictive pain in his heart every time he looked at him too hard. Wondered how he would have gone on with his life never knowing Daryl Dixon shared his universe.   
He was fucking grateful, is what he was. Because this—having Daryl writhing underneath him—was something. Something important.

“Forty-five minutes, Daddy,” Daryl taunted with a groan, pulling Rick out of his head. “You gonna keep daydreamin’ or fuck me, like you promised?”

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you.” Rick let go of Daryl’s cock so he could slide their lengths together with a slow roll of his hips. 

“Tell me how,” Daryl pleaded, all roughness now, his fingernails cutting lines of proof down Rick’s back. “Like it when you tell me.”

Rick was so hard, he was smearing pre-come all over Daryl’s cock and over his stomach. They were sticky with it. He was delirious with it. If he woke up from a dream right this second, he’d be mightily disappointed, but he wouldn’t be surprised. “First, I’m gonna get those lips around my cock,” he said. “Make you get me real wet. Gotta be ready to fuck you, don’t I?”

“Yeah, Rick,” Daryl grunted. “Yeah, Daddy. I wanna suck you off so bad.”

“I know you do. You would have gotten on your knees for me at the station if I’d asked, wouldn’t you?” Rick inched up Daryl’s body, kissing him, all teeth and tongues and promise, before straddling his shoulders and grabbing his dick at the base. Daryl was trapped beneath, pinned. His mouth gasping and wet. “You want this? You want my cock in your mouth?” He pressed the head against Daryl’s lips, letting the slit slide over the part where he’d been hit. Kissing it with his tip. “I’m gonna treat you so well, baby,” he promised. And he meant it. It hurt how much he meant it. 

Daryl stuck his tongue out, licking at his cockhead. His eyes were lidded heavily, his eyelashes damp, like he had tears in his eyes. “You can read me some poetry later,” he said with fake bravado, the need evident in his voice, making it shake. “Feed me your dick, Daddy. Fuck my mouth.”

Rick swept the sweaty bangs from Daryl’s forehead. “Whatever you want,” he whispered, reverent. “Here you go, baby.” Slowly, he guided himself inside the blinding-hot suction of Daryl’s mouth. “Fuck, you’re sweet,” he crooned, eyes slamming shut at the feel of his head being suckled. “That’s—that’s so good, Daryl. Fuck.”

It had been a long time, and Rick knew, from the first five seconds of having Daryl’s tongue on his dick, that he wouldn’t be able to last long in this particular wet warmth. Not if he wanted to finish off in Daryl’s ass. 

But he was in control, knew his limits, let himself thrust carefully into Daryl’s mouth and enjoy the pressure of his tongue and the clumsy clutch of his throat. When Daryl gagged, he pulled out, wiping up a trail of spit from the corner of Daryl’s mouth. 

“I’m not done,” Daryl complained, chasing Rick when he rolled off to lay on his side. 

Rick grabbed his shoulder, keeping him from sinking lower on the bed and trying to get his mouth on him again. He pushed Daryl onto his back and busied his mouth with his own, moaning at the musky taste from all the pre-come Rick had flooded onto his tongue. 

“We’ll have time for that,” Rick said, repositioning himself over Daryl and settling between the V of his legs, using his hands to spread his thighs wide. “I can’t wait to use that mouth. Want you to suck me for hours. Wanna come down your throat, make you swallow it all.”

Daryl’s breath was coming quick. His hands grabbed at Rick, holding onto his biceps as he turned his head and groaned pitifully into the pillow. “I want it. You wouldn’t have to make me.”

“You’d have to be good for me,” Rick teased, tickling Daryl’s inner thigh, so soft beneath the pads of his fingers. “I know you would be, wouldn’t you?”

Daryl nodded, accepting Rick’s fingers when he held two to his mouth. 

“That’s it. Suck on them. Get ‘em as wet as my dick.”

While Daryl busied himself with the fingers, lapping at them with his tongue and sucking them deep into his mouth, Rick reached the short length to the bedside drawer, where he kept his lube. The bottle was half empty, which was pathetic, because he’d only ever used it on himself. 

“Yeah, baby. Keep sucking,” he said, coating his cock liberally with the slick stuff. He pressed his lubed fingers to trace down the crack of Daryl’s ass. He was sprinkled with hair there, and Rick couldn’t resist tugging on a wiry strand. 

Daryl’s eyes snapped open and the fingers slipped from his mouth. “Hey, watch it, you fucker.”

Rick laughed and smoothed over the hurt with his finger, leaning forward to press a kiss to Daryl’s collarbone. “You didn’t like that?” he asked, tempted to suck a livid bruise but resisting, because tonight, at least, it didn’t feel right. He would mark him later, if Daryl wanted, once he was a clean canvas again. In the meantime, he just kissed. 

“See how you like it.” Daryl’s hand shot down, gripping Rick’s cock for only a second before tugging hard on his pubes. 

Rick shouted, his body jerking as pre-come dribbled heavily from his slit, all over Daryl’s tummy. 

“You do like it,” Daryl said, sounding sort of amazed. Rick felt sort of amazed, too, but it didn’t mean he wanted to get yanked again, so he grabbed Daryl’s wrist and brought his hand over his head with a smirk. “Am I in trouble, Daddy?”

“You’re in big trouble,” Rick replied. “I’m not gonna forget it.”

Daryl’s smile was sudden and surprising. A dimpled cheek and straight, white teeth. Eyes glittering. 

Rick forgot what he was going to say for a good thirty seconds, just gaped stupidly down at the boy beneath him. It took needy hips nudging up for him to remember himself, remember the importance of the next question. He cleared his throat, distracted, because although the smile had become smaller, subtler, Daryl still looked happy. And that was…fuck, that was everything, wasn’t it? Somehow, it had become everything. 

“You ever been fucked, Daryl?” he asked, finally finding his voice. 

When Daryl nodded, so did Rick. He wouldn’t let himself feel jealous, not right now. That wasn’t what this was about. “Good boy,” he praised, rubbing his hands down Daryl’s chest and over his thighs. “Then you know I need to stick a finger in you, get you relaxed and ready for me.”

Again, Daryl nodded. “Don’t gotta be too thorough,” he said with an embarrassed little shrug. “I like it snug.”

“Snug, huh?” Rick asked, pressing a pleased kiss to Daryl’s thigh before winding a finger back down his crack, very pointedly not pulling on any pubic hairs. “You gonna be real tight for me?”

“Mmm. Yeah.”

Rick circled Daryl’s puckered hole. His finger was slippery and the tip nudged in with little resistance. “You’re hot inside, baby,” he whispered, pushing the rest of his finger in, knuckle after knuckle, until he was as deep as he could go. “Can’t wait to get my dick inside you.”

“You gonna fuck me hard, Daddy?” Daryl asked, taking the ballsy initiative of stacking his legs over Rick’s shoulders, changing the angle and exposing himself fully. He could bounce his hips better like this, and rutted on Rick’s finger, his eyes fluttering shut. “That feels so good. You got thick fingers.”

Rick wrapped an arm around Daryl’s left leg, making sure he was secure, then went to town with his right hand, fucking him properly with his finger. “My cock’s thicker,” he said. 

“Prove it,” Daryl demanded, eyes peeking back open in order to glare a challenge. “Don’t need another finger. Rather get stretched on your dick. Jus’ go slow. I can take it.”

“You sure?” asked Rick, already pulling his finger free and lining himself up against Daryl’s small hole. It was as flushed now as Daryl’s cheeks, and he ached to shove in. 

“We ain’t got all day.” Daryl gave his ass a shake, making Rick’s cockhead slide up and down his crack. 

“Let me grab a condom.”

“Nah. Fuck me bare. Want you to come in me.”

Rick paused. It’d been a long time since he’d had sex with a man. A long time since he’d sex at all. He knew he was clean. He didn’t know if Daryl was. 

Sensing his hesitation, Daryl sighed, leaning up to grip the base of Rick’s dick. “A dildo, okay?” 

Rick blinked down at him, confused. 

Daryl blew some hair out of his eyes. He was irritated and embarrassed; Rick already knew the signs. “That’s how I been fucked before. Fucked myself. With a dildo.”

Rick tried not to smile too wide, but he probably didn’t manage it too well, because Daryl looked pissed. “You’re a virgin?” he asked. 

“That’s a fuckin’ social construct, or whatever,” Daryl huffed, giving his hips another wiggle. “I’ve had somethin’ dick-shaped in my ass plenty of times, and that’s the point, right? So put your dick in me. Fuck me raw. No condom. I wanna feel you come in my ass. I’m clean as a fuckin’ whistle.”

“Daryl,” Rick hushed, leaning forward and kissing his mouth softly, even as he led the tip of his dick to Daryl’s hole. “Relax,” he said, pressing, pressing. 

Daryl’s teeth clenched when the head pushed through the tight ring of muscle. He spasmed, his hole gripping tight around Rick’s head. “Oh, fuck,” he hissed. “That just the tip?”

“That’s just the tip,” Rick soothed. “Keep breathing. We’re gonna go slow. Slow as you need.” He smoothed over Daryl’s thighs, legs still propped over his shoulders. And slowly, very slowly, he pressed in a bit more. “Feels different when it’s the real thing, doesn’t it?” he asked.

Daryl bit at his lip and nodded. He looked like he was in a little pain—the expected amount—but his cock was still hard and flushed against his stomach, encouraging Rick to continue his slow progression. “’S hot,” he breathed. “What do I feel like?”

Rick groaned as his cock slid further in. Still not even half way. “You’re tight,” he said. “Real fucking tight. Such a good boy, Daryl.”

A whimper escaped Daryl’s lips and Rick pressed forward to kiss him, the angle bending Daryl nearly in half and forcing Rick’s dick deep. They both gasped into the kiss. Daryl moved his hips and whispered, “Do it, Rick. Want you all the way in me.”

So Rick pushed, splitting Daryl’s ass until he was nestled as deep as he could go. 

“I can feel your heartbeat in your dick,” Daryl said, voice dazed and slurred, almost like he was drunk. “You’re fuckin’ big. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

“Hurt?” 

“Nah,” Daryl dismissed quickly. “I like it. Feels like I wanted it to feel.” He gave his hips an experimental twist and cried out. “Oh!”

Rick licked into Daryl’s mouth, kissing him filthily before pulling away and pressing his hips forward, his thick shaft rubbing relentlessly against Daryl’s prostate and making him writhe. “Yeah? That feel nice, baby?”

Daryl nodded, his eyes closed tight once more. 

Rick laughed. “And I haven’t even started fucking you yet.”

“Fuck me, then,” Daryl begged. “Don’t go wastin’ time. Hell.”

Rick pulled out slow, all the way, his mushroom head catching on Daryl’s rim and stretching it wide. “Gonna fuck you,” he said, pushing back in. Slow and hard. “Love your ass, baby.”

“Yeah, Daddy,” Daryl moaned, gasping every time Rick pulled out and shoved back in, always deep, always hard enough to make them inch up the bed. “Oh, Rick. Rick. Your cock. Jesus fuck.”

“Like my cock?” He hardly heard his own words, he was so enraptured in the tight clutch of Daryl’s ass. “Gonna fuck you every day. Gonna come home from work in the morning and bend you over, fuck you so hard.”

“Don’t ever stop,” Daryl groaned. His knees fell from Rick’s shoulders and Rick helped him spread his legs so he could get deeper. He bent over Daryl, dripping sweat and thrusting rapidly. Their skin smacked loudly, and Rick had never heard such a perfect sound. This was it. This was how it was supposed to be. It felt the way he’d always wanted it to feel, like Daryl had said. 

“Never gonna,” Rick panted. “Never gonna stop. No one’s gonna touch you like this. This hole mine, Daryl?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s all yours,” Daryl answered. “Just keep fuckin’ me, Daddy. Love your cock.”

Rick was getting close, could feel it gathering, spurring him to thrust faster. He wrapped his hand around Daryl and squeezed. “Fuck my hand,” he ordered, eyes glazing as he watched Daryl’s dick slide over his slick palm. “That’s it, baby. You wanna come all over Daddy?”

“Jesus, Rick,” Daryl groaned, his cock twitching. “You got a dirty fuckin’ mouth.”

Rick was laughing, and he couldn’t ever remembering this: laughing while he had sex. He was soaring; he felt so good. He started pounding Daryl earnestly, like a fucking animal, couldn’t contain himself any longer. He jacked Daryl’s cock with an equally aggressive pace. “Come on, Daryl,” he gasped, getting breathless. “Come for Daddy.”

He’d be embarrassed later. For sure. In the light of day, all this daddy talk would probably make both their faces burn. But for now…fuck. Daryl shot off like a rocket, come spouting everywhere, hot ribbons of white splattering Rick’s fist, then his face. The orgasm made Daryl’s entire body seize, and Rick was squeezed so tight, he couldn’t even thrust. All he could do was pulse and buck his hips. 

“Oh, baby,” he sighed. “There you go. Milk my cock with your ass. Daryl, Daryl, so…so tight. I’m coming.”

“Come inside me, Rick,” Daryl heaved, his ass still fluttering around him. 

“I am, I am,” he promised. “I’m coming. Filling you up.”

Daryl groaned, his head lolling to the side, his bangs drenched in sweat. 

Rick shuddered and bent low, his weight on his hips and elbows as he started thrusting again, his orgasm still shooting through him. He couldn’t speak anymore, but that was okay, because he was pretty sure Daryl couldn’t either. In fact…he stopped thrusting. He was pretty sure Daryl had passed out. His breathing was deep and even, a small smile tugging at his busted lip even as a snore rattled from the back of his throat. 

Rick slid carefully out of him, leaning on his side and propping up on an elbow so he could study his boy’s face. One day soon, his bruises would be gone, but he’d still have the scars. Rick sighed, brushing his knuckles against Daryl’s soft cheek and thinking of the father behind the bars of the holding cell. Rick had made a promise to himself to make sure Will Dixon never left that cell alive, and he intended to keep it. He was clever. He could figure out a way to make it look like an accident. 

“I’m gonna protect you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to Daryl’s forehead. “Gonna keep you safe.”

Daryl was still asleep, but his hand reached out anyway and found Rick’s. Rick squeezed, eyes bright with tears as he gazed down at everything he’d been waiting for.


End file.
